The dry grains of sand tumble over each other, a million dancing acrobats racing before the wind. At the water’s edge, they disappear into the ripples, while the wind stirs the dark, shadowed, tea-tree waters. Some of the sand settles into the water while others carpet the stream with a floating scum. Each grain rafting to another; struggling to survive. The rising wind rocks their raft and they sink. The tide will eventually pull them all back out to sea, from there once more they’ll be cast onto another beach.

The force of the wind has been rising quickly over the last hour. All the sea gulls huddle together for protection, sensing the dark-shadowed storm’s approach. The reflections on the creek lose their definition beneath clouds, that move raggedly before the sun. While the wind whips across the sweep of sand which separates the dark-stained creek from the sea. Beyond the wind-blown sand the ever darkening sea rolls on tirelessly. The waves have lost all their dignity before the wind. They slop around unable to fall cleanly on the shore. The sea’s light sparkle has given way to an endless sweep of grey, capped with dirty stains of white foam. Beyond the edge of the horizon, dark clouds bend and buckle and roll over each other, kissing blindly with lightning strikes.

The wind-driveed sand slides faster in the ever-deepening gloom. Sea grass is tossed in the gusting wind. The limit of the sea rapidly disappears into the heavy mist of a running rain. The heavens open and rain plummets to earth, pummelling the ground with soaking drops. As though attacking, first singularly, then in wind driven waves the dry sand is beaten lifeless as the falling water weighs down the beach. Then everything disappears into the grey rain.

High in the mountains behind the sea, at the adolescence of a dark creek, the water swirls cleanly over grey rocks that are dappled in sunlight. The heavy, mulch smell of the rainforest contrasts strongly with the fresh, salt-tanged, wind-swept barren beach. Green falls over green in an ever-darkening cascade, the air is heavy and the sunlight falls filtered into shafts. Hidden birds call lightly to each other breaking the quiet. Gently swirling, the creek takes a browned and fallen leaf beneath overhanging boughs. Glinting, in the sunlight the creek has made a tortuous journey down the mountains and past the feet of the heavy-leafed trees. The water in its joyous frolic of youth follows a rapidly changing course. Rolling, tumbling continuously over itself, the water rolls across slimy rocks, before leaping out into the air. The leading edge forming a waterfall. Metres below, where the water contacts the surface of the pool, its sense of freedom is lost as it rolls back inside itself. A million bubbles catch the light, joyous before disappearing into the world of darkness that is the pool.

There is a bare figure running through the rainforest. For what had started out as a walk for Tom to clear his mind has begun to take on sense of panic, as he tries desperately to outrun his thoughts. His world has been shattered by the simple act of giving in to his long-hidden desires. It all started innocently enough, then developed into something more. A chance meeting revealed a part of himself that he’d kept hidden from his wife.

Tom had met him on the bus coming home from work. A friendly conversation became more than just that as their joint desires grew into an unmistakable, sensual spark. It eventually led to Tom’s house, a drink and more conversation before at some point the line was crossed. He desired this man so much that he moved in close and kissed him on the lips. Instead of being repelled they both hungrily kissed. Their hands seeking out each other’s bodies. Clothes were stripped while their lips remain locked. Burning desire rose as they stumbled and tripped their way to the bedroom.

Their hour or so of lovemaking was wrapped in a cloud of bliss for Tom. Never before had he given in to hish pent up passion. It poured from him in waves; and the bliss was intense. Afterwards, their two sweaty, sticky bodies parted, their passion spent. Tom rolled onto his back and they both lay there sated.

He now knew that this was his true self. He was no longer in denial of his hidden feelings. The stranger with whom he had just ravaged in love lay there with his eyes closed. The scent of two sweaty men overpowered his nostrils. Never before had Tom felt so alive. When his reverie was suddenly broken by a gasp.

Snapping his head around, Tom saw his wife standing in the doorway of their bedroom. A look of confused horror on her face. She burst into tears, turned and fled. Running down the corridor after her, Tom’s legs were impeded first by the bed covers then, as he tried to run and drag on some clothes to cover his nakedness. He yelled after his wife to try and explain. But she no longer heard. Having had a head start she was out the front door and rapidly driving off down the quiet suburban street. Tom stood in the driveway panting. It was only then he noticed Mrs Graveson across the road looking up from her watering. Tom nodded in greeting with a look that tried to convey that this happened all the time, and that nothing was amiss.

After the stranger left Tom returned the house to its usual beige, pristine condition. It looked as though nothing had ever happened. The thing was though it had. His world had cracked apart and shifted. He now felt even more closeted. Although he was never sexually attracted to his wife they had been, up until now, great friends. Over the next few days he tried to call her mobile, her work and their families. He left messages on her phone that were never returned. From the few friends with whom he did speak he received curt responses. All telling him that she had no intention of ever speaking to him again. The darkness of his loss from his one act of passion grew until it enveloped his whole world and shattered his sleep.

His despondency and exhustion finally drove him to go for a walk in the mountains. He had always felt a sense of solace and peace there. Now with the storm brewing in the south, even the peace he could normally find avoided him.

He started walking slowly up the track that led away from the carpark. Climbing higher into the hills, the air close and heavy with promise of the summer storm, he soon started to sweat. First, he wiped his brow with his sleeve then as he began walking faster, somehow thinking that he might outrun his confused thoughts. Images repeated themselves again and again in his mind: of his wife happy then that look of horror, the chap from the bus, the bliss, the ecstasy and then the absolute loneliness. How the bliss had so quickly turned to horror.

Mindlessly, he removed his shirt to cool his body. He wiped it across his brow. Then he let the shirt simply fall to the ground as he continued in a daze to walk faster and faster. He felt a sense of relief without his shirt. Then his feet felt restricted in his hiking boots, so he paused briefly before removing them. He continued along the path in his socks, travelling ever higher up into the mountains. Driven, drawn towards something he did not know what, while tears streamed down his face and mingled with his sweat. Oblivious to the bend in the graded path he continued straight on, away into the bush and even further up the hill.

The bush now reached out and scratched his skin. The steadily increasing breeze blowing leaves off the trees that swirled like his thoughts around his head. Soon his socks became more of a hindrance than a help. He bent down and stripping them from his feet flung them into the trees. One was left hanging from a branch like a strange white flower. Now crashing through the bush, his pants snagged on a broken branch. His forward movement wrenched and tore the pocket. Feeling caught by the trees Tom fumbled with his belt and dropping his shorts stepped out of them. He looked down at a nasty gash on his thigh. Without comprehending the flow of blood he continued on into the rainforest. In only his boxer shorts he ran, stumbled, fell and tumbled forward. Feeling driven and pulled, he crashed on trying to move away from all the lies, to run away from his false life, to leave himself far behind.

After sometime he stumbled into a gully; slipping and falling he tumbled heavily into the clear, rocky stream. The water was cool and refreshing. He had not realised how dehydrated he had become. Crouching down on all fours he sucked greedily at the running stream, gulping deeply just as he had done with the guy from the bus. That image aroused him, tormenting him even more. Reaching down he pulls off his underpants. Soaking his boxers in the cold water, he wrung the water over the deep scratch in his leg. Washing some of the dried, deep-red blood away. He repeated the process, alternating with wringing the cool creek water over his head. In an attempt to try and cool his thoughts. Nothing seemed to remove the fog of confusion before his eyes.

Flinging the bloody, damp and torn underpants aside, Tom began to follow the flow of water downstream, being drawn along by the soothing sound of the tumbling water. After scrabbling, falling, slipping and sliding more times than he could remember he broke out of the trees onto a rocky ledge at the cliff’s edge. To his left the stream turned right, then left, then leaped out into the void. Before it cascaded towards the trees and the dark, shadowed rainforest pool below.

From this high vantage point stood a broken man whose pale skin contrasted against the cold, dark rocks. Ageless and grey the earth below, soft and transient forms between, and above swift, darkening clouds billowing in the sunlight sweeping across the permanent blue, all with their image reflected amongst the pools ripples. All caught before the wind rising with the coming storm’s inexorable approach.

Its sudden arrival breaks the stifling grip of the days clawing heat. Treetops sway before a bruised, black sky, the sun rapidly setting on a false horizon. Leaves flutter ground wards from their eerie perches; they drift on the wind, settling on the ground and amongst the ripples. Through the corrugated surface far below can be sensed the pool’s dark depths.

Standing naked on the rocks, stripped of all his sweat soaked and tattered clothes, Tom’s bare skin is cooled by the breeze. Shadows and light fall across a body that has been sculpted by physical exercise, muscles relaxed, standing before nature in the prime of his manhood. Whilst the exterior appears relaxed, from within the mind is a raging wind-whipped ocean of thoughts, the question raised – of to be or not to be, sweeping across the seas of his tormented emotions.

The dappled light swiftly disintegrates. The air falls dark, filled with swarming leaves, no longer noble. The first outrageously pregnant raindrops fall. Then a crescendo of drops, cold rain pounds against Tom’s bare skin. His hair plastered long to a skin rapidly cooling, dripping wet. Taking his arms up against the wind, his sea of troubles, stretching, and the thought of by opposing gravity leaps, to end it all.

Swift is his fall. From a world of racing water and falling noise to the inward quiet world beneath the troubled surface. Through the rush of bubbles that quickly rise back to the surface. Suddenly it is absolutely quiet. Here in the deep darkness, where the light glows faintly down from above, all is still and quiet. Arms and legs move noiselessly in the depths. To die, to sleep, here where time could end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks of life.

Deep in the pool among the last fleeing bubbles a mental struggle begins; the need for vital air that flesh is heir. Or to disappear into the silence forever and there to sleep in peace, to dream. The want of an end and the need to breathe; the two fight, each struggling to gain the upper hand. To sleep, to die, for in that sleep what dreams may come. In that silent, undiscovered country a decision is made. Arms and legs moving; he swims to the surface.

Bursting out of the quiet bubble into the raucous noise of rain that beats the ears, like that on a tin roof. His lungs gasp for air. His ears are filled with noise, his eyes refocusing against the whips and scorns of the smarting rain. The pool’s surface is shattered into a million ripples by the bouncing raindrops.

The edge of the pool edge is close to where he has surfaced. Its rocky border hung with dripping ferns and moss. On a flat rock by the water’s edge rises a pair of strong legs. Taking in the greater arc and looking up the legs there stands a man, a male of indefinable dark beauty. His diaphanous clothes wrap themselves closely to his muscular form. His white, long sleeved shirt and trousers waft loose and billowing in the wind. He stands sheltering beneath a red, waxed parchment umbrella gently gazing towards Tom. Swimming slowly closer to the figure, Tom’s eyes are transfixed by the surreal figure before him. Once bent on destruction Tom is now drawn towards this calm, solid figure. His gentle movements forward disturbing the rain splashing in a thousand circular ripples on the surface. At the pool’s edge, at the vision’s feet, slowly, Tom eases himself out of the water. His motion is arrested by the remembrance of his complete nakedness. Wordlessly the man under the umbrella hands across a soaked bundle. To Tom’s surprise he unfolds them to find that they are his earlier shed clothes.

Beckoning Tom to follow the other man turns away, the red-orange coloured surface of his umbrella flashing in the thick, rain-swollen, grey air. Tom exits stumbling from the water, falling over the slippery rocks whilst trying to hoist his tattered shorts onto his hips. The growing sense of embarrassment to cover his nakedness, is mixed with the confusion of who this man might be. The figure walking ahead does not seem to notice as if it is the most natural thing in the world to meet a naked, suicide attempter. Tom struggles to follow, sliding in the mud and being snatched at by the trees. He stumbles behind, while further ahead up the slope, just at the edge of his sight, bobs the now yellow-green flashing umbrella. Tom’s mind confused at what he first mistook to be either orange or red.

At last, they stop. Having climbed the steep slope they have broken through the thick forest out onto an swathe of short, deep-green grass. Tom stands before a long, low, dark-timbered house. Question-less Tom steps on to the veranda with the other man to shelter from the still heavy rain. The mysterious man silences Tom’s thought filled mind by gently shaking the water from his umbrella. The drops’ glistening on the purple of its covering. Shaking the few drops of rain from his dark, black hair, the stranger turns and gazes serenely into Tom’s eyes.

Tom’s face reflects the inner puzzle of an image captured of this same person by the pool, of what he thought he saw was grey hair beneath the parchment and the background of the dark rainforest. The storm has now broken itself against the earth. The once drenching rain begins to fall more gently. Moving his gaze down over Tom’s semi-naked form the contrasts in their figures are apparent. The stranger is fairly dry, his clothes clean and light blue in colour, while Tom is soaked to his skin and slowly dripping into the large puddle that is forming at his feet. Splattered in mud, bruises and with blood weeping from numerous cuts, including the fairly large gash on his left leg looks as though Tom has been literally dragged through the mud.

Wordlessly this stranger turns and moves further along the veranda. Tom follows in silence, even though they are encased in the noise of the rain still beating on the roof. The storm’s fury has been vented. The ragged clouds fly swiftly across the tress as the day begins to fade. Coming to a wooded louvred door, the stranger slides it open. Beckoning him to enter Tom steps inside past the welcoming bow of the handsome stranger. Who then slides the door quickly closed behind Tom’s back. At first taken aback Tom quickly realises that he is standing alone in a bathroom.

The wood lined room is a small, warm and mist-filled. Opposite him is a tall, fragrant bath steaming in the light of a high window. Through which can be glimpsed, past the overhang of the roof, the dripping forest. Calm, and without dis-ease, he peels the remnants of shorts and shirt from his chilled skin. They form a muddied pile on the dark timber floor. Tom’s legs are scratched and weeping. His body mottled by mud, welts and storm detritus. The tub is high sided and it is necessary for Tom to climb three wooden stairs to reach its steaming surface.

Tom settles his dirty body tenderly into the fragrant water, which is warm and soothing. Among the steaming tendrils float two white flowers. As he relaxes, Tom begins to ponder who is this strange, elusive and attractive host. Questions rise about how he gathered the clothes that had been scattered mindlessly in the bush, from where did he appear and how he moved with such grace and agility through the wet and slippery forest. All these thoughts begin to peel away from Tom’s mind, as a comforting blanket of sleep falls across his eyes. His head is soon lolling on towel at the edge of the tub and just above warm water’s surface.

While asleep Tom has the most fabulous dream, in which he is transported to his parent’s back porch. There he was sitting and talking with his family, it is warm and sunny while everyone seems happy and at peace. Then the house is by the water (which in reality it is not). It sits next to a canal and there was a flat pontoon jutting out from the shore. Looking out across the water Tom notices a triangular fin. His first reaction was to freeze, then as he watches the fin arcs up and out of the water. Tom then realises it is a dolphin swimming close to the jetty. Tom and his sisters (who because this was a dream are younger and had simply appeared) all wanted to see the dolphin. Then with that the dolphin leapt out of the water. Its beautiful wet, grey, graceful body sliding up onto the pontoon. Just like Tom remembered seeing, in the golden summery days of his childhood, when the family had gone to Seaworld. While his sisters squealed and backed away from the dolphin. Tom noticed that it was looking directly at him. Their eyes met and Tom feels calm and happy. So much so that he overcame his fears and started stroking the dolphin’s strong, glistening body. Magically, the sleek, grey body beneath his hands turned into the sweat-soaked body of his one-afternoon-stand lover. Seeing this sudden transformation Tom awakes with a start.

The bathwater having cooled, Tom wakes chilled yet for the first time in days with a surprising sense of calm. The rain has ceased to drum against the roof. The noise has been replaced with the solid, quiet drops dripping from the trees and eaves. The day has ended and night has nearly gathered in all the light. The trees outside the window disappearing into the dark by the minute. The soft light in the room now emanates from two small, burning lanterns sitting high on a shelf in the corners of the room. Their light gives the timber walls a honeyed sheen. On a chair beside the tub is a large, white towel and a pile of neatly folded, clean clothes. His pile of muddy rags have disappeared from the floor. Rising from the tub Tom’s skin is now clean, wrinkled but smooth, the once red welts having all but disappeared while the cut on his leg has begun to heal.

Tom’s is enveloped in an overpowering sense of peace and wonder. Drying himself with the sublimely, soft towel and dressing in the simple, white clothes and slippers he slides back the door. In the enveloping darkness, and with only the sound of the bush at night, he leads the way with one of the lanterns. The flowing white trousers and long shirt he wears glow in the soft-cast light and brushes delicately against his skin. It is a similar wooden veranda yet this one faces not onto the rainforest but surrounds a quiet, neat and courtyard, filled with tropical foliage. From the other side of the square space, an open door and lantern lit room beckons.

The low-lit room is surprisingly large and simply furnished. Its pale yellow timber walls reflect the lantern light; the room reminds Tom of images he’s seen of Japanese houses. On the other side of the room, the shoji screens are open to the rapidly deepening darkness beyond. There before a solid wall of dark stone, basking in the glow of a brassier, calmly sits the man from under the umbrella. Wordlessly Tom sits down cross-legged opposite him on a large, soft cushion.

They are in this room two, in the glow of light, male and male. The other man’s eyes showing that they are a reflection of each other, they sit quietly the dark outside contrasting against the light in the room.

Calmer of mind Tom realises that all this actions have brought him to this. To this man who is like a mirror of himself. Dark opposite white, calm opposite confused. Tom tries to talk but his words fall hopelessly on the floor, and he falls into silence.

Then in a calm, sonorous voice the dark man begins to tell Tom, the truth of his life. He seems to know more about Tom’s life than Tom has forgotten. The dark man tells him that he is just one part of a greater cycle of life. One that began almost a hundred thousand lifetimes ago.As the handsome stranger talks a smile drifts across his face. Tom’s mind is now completely calm. From his core Tom realises that what he is listening to is the truth of himself. Finally at peace Tom soon realises that he has returned full circle to the beginning of everything and to his true self.